


ask why the seawind wanders

by poalimal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Fantasy elements, Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, Gender Changes, M/M, Many Layers of Misgendering, Other, Self-Esteem Issues, implied misogyny, implied racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: When Gabriela's grandfather was just a boy, the King took the country to war.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the poem _Why I Love Thee?_ by Sadakichi Hartmann:
> 
> Why I love thee?;  
> Ask why the seawind wanders,;  
> Why the shore is aflush with the tide,;  
> Why the moon through heaven meanders;  
> Like seafaring ships that ride;  
> On a sullen, motionless deep;;  
> Why the seabirds are fluttering the strand;  
> Where the waves sing themselves to sleep;  
> And starshine lives in the curves of the land!;

When Gabriela's grandfather was just a boy, the King took the country to war. By the time Gabriela was born, the King still did not desire peace. And the King as you know had ill-used so many wives and so many daughters that he had made it a crime for a woman to wound a man. Therefore no woman was allowed to fight in the King's futile war.

So when Gabriela's father died in battle, mere weeks after Gabriela's birth, Gabriela's mother Socorro wrapped the babe up in black swaddling cloth and went to the town register. And Socorro deceived the woman, saying, 'God has sent me another daughter, to ease my heart in pain.' And during her months of mourning, Socorro managed to seduce the widowed midwife Ramira - the only other woman who knew the truth of Gabriela's birth.

Thus were Socorro and Ramira married. But the fear of discovery soon came to consume them, and they knew they could not stay. It took them many months to plan out their steps; and in that time they sewed all of their jewellery into their cloaks. Indeed they had to walk very carefully with these cloaks, for the town Ventoso in which they lived was high up in the mountains, and known for its constant wind. Any misstep would surely have revealed them. And all the townspeople marvelled at the widows, and how gently they walked together, as if in a dance to which they two alone knew the steps. For love matches in those days were quite rare.

Alike in purpose, the newlyweds soon finished their sewing. And in the dead of night soon after, they got four bodies made of clay and boarsblood from the priest's only sister. And grumpy old Nínive gave them in secret a twelfth of oil of flame in exchange for a full jar of otiteñ. And they say that Nínive used the otiteñ to scale the heavens, and that she remains trapped there to this day. But I am sure you have heard enough about that already.

As for Socorro and Ramira, they both awoke on their last day in Ventoso with much trepidation and sadness. For Ramira had lived there all her life, and to Socorro it had become her home. And they cried over the child Gabriela's head, and prayed for his safety. And the child Rocío was very curious, and so clambered into their arms; and they were very sorry to her, and prayed over her, too. Later that day they prayed over the graves of Ramira's parents, over the graves of Socorro's husband Isador, and Isador's parents, and all three of his brothers; and they cleaned the graves carefully, with song and growing-rose. But the grave of Ramira's husband they covered with ceniza and bitter salt. And in the evening that same day they made a veritable feast of food for the children - stewed mountain goat, perhaps a bit dry, with cornmeal dumplings, and one-half of a spiced cream candy for dessert. 

Together they lit candles and danced with the children round the tall tomato garden at the back of their home. This the mothers did till Rocío and Gabriela were asleep beneath the stars, each child nestled deep in their arms. Thus did Socorro and Ramira spend their last hours in Ventoso: they covered themselves up in their cloaks, they bound the children to their backs, they wrapped what remained of the food in waxhusk and hid it in their pockets for the trip. Then they took the candles and the oil and they set their house aflame, with four false bodies still inside. And when the townspeople of Ventoso awoke the next day, they found the whole house burned away, as if it had never been.

The Magistrate charged the Duke's bastard Filandro with arson, for everyone knew how he had threatened to kill Socorro when she turned him down twice. Nevertheless, eventually he went free.

* * *

So Socorro and Ramira escaped with their children to the seaside, where Socorro's people lived in the village now known as Nereida. Back then the village had no name, and there were more fish than people. And the people in that village because of their history feared all strangers in their midst. And all of them rejected Socorro, with her strange mountain wife and her strange mountain children - all but her mother (whom the children called Tita), her second mother (whom the children called Yaya), and her grandmother (whom the children called Bisabuela). 

'For,' said Bisabuela, 'if I reject my own family, I might as well reject myself.' 

It had taken her many years to reach this conclusion - it helped that her daughter had never forgiven her for chasing out Socorro for marrying that mountain-born soldier Isador in the first place.

Nevertheless, though Ramira cut her long woolly hair out of respect for the villagers' customs, they all of them lived as strangers in that place.

Yet Rocío and Gabriela grew up happily, there on the edge of the sea, hidden away from the rest of the village by the hills and trees. And there they learned a good many things. Socorro taught them how to climb and how to cook, how to prune a tree and tend a wet-weather garden, how to patch with mud the walls of their home. Ramira taught them how to birth a baby, how to sew up a wound and a shirt, and how to forgive for one's own sake. And together their mothers taught them what it looked like to be in love. Tita taught them how to manage a riptide as well as a home, how to keep stores stocked and keep away from stingrays, how to make something from nothing, and give from even that. And Yaya taught them the songs her own mother and her mother's mother had taught her; and so taught them both to listen. But she refused to teach them magic, for, as she said, 'it requires a gift of pain.'

None spoke of the children's father - for Socorro mourned him still.

For Bisabuela's part, she had never made much fuss about children. Still, as the children grew, she saw how the other villagers treated them, and so she tried to teach them pride. This, Rocío learned well; this, Gabriela could not. And for a while she even sought to shrink herself, for she was tall even as a child. But Bisabuela taught her how to fight with a knife, how to ride a wild horse, and how to subdue a man - impractical, posture-building skills of which Rocío - she who was made for the sea and who knew how to catch, free or kill near everything in it - had no need.

Now the custom of that place was to dote upon the eldest child, so Rocío grew up loud, well-loved and kind; and she carried her sister around like she was her own. Rocío braided Gabriela's hair, she yelled at her bullies, and swum with her in the shallows when the sea scared her. And when Ramira was in the village, and Socorro was out at sea, and Yaya was too tired, Tita too busy, and Bisabuela too bored, Rocío would tell Gabriela fantastic stories about lands beyond the sea, about princesses of sand on gallant steed, clever queens in castles of clay, and women warriors bundled up in snow. So Gabriela grew up sweet, strong, and somewhat inward: a dreamer, like her father before her.

And though she was quite happy, Gabriela sometimes thought to herself, if I were not so different from the rest of my family, if I did not look so strange in so many places, then perhaps they would love me better. 

And for a long time she did not understand why she alone of all of them had to wear her hair long, nor why she must shave even more often than Bisabuela. 

For her family never told her she was a man; and so she did not know what it was to be one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. The first line in this fic is fully inspired by the beginning of C.S. Lewis's _The Magician's Nephew_ : This is a story about something that happened long ago when your grandfather was a child.
> 
> II. Socorro is a somewhat old-fashioned name meaning _succour, help or assistance_ in Spanish. The name Rocío is similarly sort of old-fashioned, and is taken from an epithet for Mary, mother of Jesus (María del Rocío). Gabriel's canon name is taken from an archangel in Abrahamic religions. Socorro's husband is called Isador (variant of Isidore - meaning 'gift of Isis'), an unusual name that has a long 'association with Catholic figures and among the Jewish diaspora' (thanks, Wikipedia).
> 
> III. Yaya, Tita, Bisabuela - _nana, granny, great-grandma_
> 
> IV. Ceniza means _ash_ in Spanish.
> 
> V. Nínive is Spanish for Nineveh, a city known in the Tanakh for the wickedness and contrition of its inhabitants. (I doubt someone would name their child this.) 
> 
> VI. Otiteñ appears to mean _star_ in Fang, a Bantu language spoken in many places - including in Equatorial Guinea (EG), which I understand is the only sovereign country in sub-saharan Africa which classes Spanish as an official language. By virtue of sheer ahistoricity, this story simply cannot take place in EG, or in Spain, or in France. Nevertheless I would be remiss if I did not cite the names and nouns I have used in my research of EG. I might post more notes about this elsewhere...
> 
> VII. There is a town called Ventoso in Italy - it may indeed be known for being windy.


	2. Chapter 2

The hours, the weeks, the years passed quickly; soon all childish things came to an end. One summer Rocío was braiding cowry shells into Gabriela's hair... the next, she took a husband, a man named Eliseo who had lost his tongue and both thumbs in the war. And he lived there in their home with them till his death, for his family could not countenance him surviving the war and marrying an outsider such as she.

Gabriela was devastated. 'Shall I ever be married?' she asked of her mothers. For she had always thought her sister Rocío loved her the best of anyone, that they were each other's solace in such a place as this; and she felt very much abandoned.

Socorro and Ramira were at a loss. At that time, as you know, the war was still ongoing. More and more, mere boys were being pressed into war. All of Eliseo's brothers, for example, had been sent into battle, even the youngest two, and both of them had already died. And Socorro knew even just a rumour of the truth of Gabriela's sex would damn him to a terrible death far from her. 

'Marriage takes time, my sky,' said Ramira. She looked to Socorro for help. She did not know what to say - indeed, she thought Gabriela should have been told the truth long ago. For how can you protect yourself when you do not even know who you are?

But Socorro forever feared the truth would take her youngest child from her, one way or the other. Marriage was simply out of the question. 'You shall never marry,' she announced, 'except to a man straight from the sea.' 

Now I do not know that she meant this truly, for selkies had by that time gone deep into the sea, as surely she would've known. Perhaps she meant it to discourage Gabriela. Perhaps it did not matter what she meant - perhaps all that mattered was that Gabriela took her quite seriously, and that she waited each day at the shore, in a cloak Ramira had made her, for her husband to come. And Gabriela gave up all things which made her happy - her horse riding, her knifework and dancing, her learning of plants - and she merely watched the sea with a knot in her throat. And she dreaded and yearned in equal measure for her husband.

And one day her husband did come.

* * *

That is to say, one day a _man_ came, straight from the sea. But he did not announce himself as Gabriela's husband on gallant steed - no, when they first met, he mostly just flailed and drowned. Indeed, Gabriela was not greatly impressed when she tore off her cloak and dove into the sea to save him. And she pinched the man's nose hard when she brought him to shore, for she saw that the man was many scores paler than even the people in the village, as if someone had opened his head and tipped out all the blood; and she thought the man must surely be dying.

'Ow!' said the man, jerking up and out of Gabriela's grip. He began coughing up water, and turning an unnatural shade of red. And he continued coughing at Gabriela for so long that it took Gabriela a while to realise he was _talking_ to her. 

What an unfortunate language, Gabriela thought, what an unfortunate man. 

'You,' she said, rather deeply underwhelmed, 'are not my husband.' And she moved from leaning over him, so he saw the sun upon her all at once.

The man startled, and he went that blotchy shade of red all over again. 

'I,' said the man, now in Gabriela's own tongue, but with a very strange accent, 'would certainly remember marrying you.' For Gabriela was exceedingly beautiful. And the stranger leaned up on his arms to look at her better; and in so doing, he allowed Gabriela to see more fully through the gash in his ruined shirt. 

It was then that Gabriela saw that the stranger had a chest just like hers.

A cold shudder ran through Gabriela at the sight of this. And with her Bisabuela's knife tied round her neck, she sliced through the man's shirt as if through butter; she subdued the man when he would've struggled, and she cut through his leggings as well, that she could look all over at his body. The stranger was strong but Gabriela was much stronger; and though the stranger bucked and hissed and cursed in his ugly language, he could not get free.

Gabriela paid him no mind, for she knew not his words: she knew only that she looked more like this creature than she did her own family.

And she let the man go, and turned away from him, and buried her face in her hands to cry. For she knew in one long, terrible moment that her family must have lied to her all her life. She was not just a different kind of daughter, as her mothers had always told her; indeed, he was a _man_. And men were cruel and callous creatures, from the King all the way down to his mother Ramira's husband.

And the stranger paused in his cursing, watching Gabriela cry. And he felt a deep wave of sympathy open his heart. For, as I have said, Gabriela was exceedingly beautiful - and it is often easier to forgive beauty. 

'Why is it that you cry?' he asked Gabriela gently.

Gabriela could not speak for some long moments; and he seemed to come awake only when the stranger put a naked hand to his shoulder. Finally he said, in rough voice, 'I came here to find you... but instead I find I have lost much more.'

And the stranger did not know what Gabriela meant; but he went with him meekly when bade, and accepted with gratitude the heavy cloak that Gabriela gave him to cover himself. And Gabriela stopped off many times on his way home, speaking of sand or grit in the bottom of his wet shoes, or wringing out the water from his soaked and crumpled skirts. But the stranger saw the way Gabriela seemed to swallow more and more tears everytime he bent over himself. 

And the stranger's heart for some reason continued to come alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aspersions cast on French are just a matter of character perspective. Broadly speaking - that is, without making specific reference to Francophone Canada, Anglophone USA, or the disparagement of Caribbean Spanish and French - French is as beautiful and as fraught a colonial language as Spanish.


	3. Chapter 3

Finally they arrived at Gabriela's home, right after the midday meal. And Gabriela reasoned that they must have given up on waiting for her-- for him, knowing how many damned hours he spent standing like a fool at the shore. And the walls of his home swum before his blinking eyes. 

From outside he could hear Yaya humming; and her voice almost melted his resolve. But he turned and saw the stranger watching him, with his ripped clothing and his near nakedness. And he steeled himself, took the stranger firmly by the arm, and pushed inside the cool dark of his home.

'Oh, Gabriela--' said Rocío, and she stood up gladly to greet her sibling. But she paused when she saw the stranger stumbling in. 'And who is this?' 

Yaya's voice trailed off. Eliseo, who had been falling asleep in his chair, looked up. When he saw Gabriela and the stranger, his eyes widened, and he jumped up and pushed Rocío and Yaya behind himself. Tita paused in her rocking chair, Ramira put down her sewing, and Socorro came in slowly from the kitchen. Bisabuela in her room slept on.

 _He is an enemy_ , Eliseo signed.

Gabriela pushed in front of the stranger, and he straightened his shoulders, and he stood tall. And he stared down hard at the sneer on Eliseo's face.

 _He is a man_ , Gabriela agreed. _Like you. Like me_.

He looked at his sister's face, and how it fell. At how Eliseo remained stiff and unsurprised. He looked his mothers in their faces, and then he had to look away.

So that is what marriage is, he thought to himself bitterly. A secret even beyond blood.

 _No, no_ , Eliseo said. _You do not know who that person is_ \--

'None of us here know each other,' said Gabriela. 'I am but a traveller en route to the capital. I have come here as a courtesy to inform you of the death of your daughter, who drowned at sea.' He took his Bisabuela's knife around his neck and cut his long hair up unto his ears, and tossed the hair carelessly to the floor in front of Eliseo. And again he held onto the stranger's arm, and looked at his family coolly. 'I mourn with you. I will accept dry clothing as gratitude.'

The stranger, for his part, was very confused indeed. And though he caught and returned the dark looks Eliseo sent him, he stayed in place only because the hand that came round his wrist was trembling.

But Socorro's legs could not hold her anymore; she swooned against the wall. The stranger looked around in shock. Only Ramira stood up, and stood forward - Eliseo would not budge in front of Yaya and Rocío, scowling ferociously when he caught the stranger's eye. 

But Ramira had eyes only for Gabriela. And she saw that her child was resolved to leave them, and that keeping him there would only hurt him. And she went into a hidden place at the back of her bedroom and brought out a beautiful dark red shirt and a sturdy black pair of trousers, a gleaming pair of boots, with fine knit hosiery and socks. And she handed them to her child wordlessly, and helped him dry himself off and re-dress, while the stranger stood to the side and looked away. And she gave Gabriela her old cloak to cover him; and he looked very fine indeed.

Gabriela saw that the clothes and boots both fit perfectly; and he knew that Ramira must have spent years making and finding these things for him. 

His heart rose to his throat; and when he swallowed it down, he looked at her and said, 'I am so sorry... for your pain.'

Ramira looked at him gladly, her eyes shiny with tears. 'Dear traveller,' she said, 'you need never apologise to me.' And she made as if to hold his hands - but Gabriela jerked away.

'That is enough,' he said, roughly. And he kept his head down, his face a full shroud.

'Gabriela...' Rocío said, lowly. But Gabriela would not look at her, nor at his mother Socorro sitting dazed with shock on the floor.

Tita stood briskly, and coaxed Socorro to her feet. 'Well, if you are going, then you should go,' she said to Gabriela. 'Your companion will need a change of clothes, though, will he not? I don't think his people care much for nakedness.'

'I,' Gabriela swallowed hard, and straightened his shoulders. 'Yes. I will call the horses, then.'

'Horses? What horses?' said the stranger. But Gabriela hurried out before he could be convinced to stay. And when he had finished wiping his face, he went a little ways away, up into the hills, where the sun was high and the wind would carry his voice.

And there he sung out two songs till they brought two wild mares to him: one dark and dappled, the other a deep brown. And they both shied away from him at first, not recognising him by sight.

'It's alright,' Gabriela said, quietly, though his heart wounded him. His hands he held out soft. Slowly, with deep breath, he tied his hair back - and then he began to dance. 

He told them with his body how he knew them, how he had loved their mother, and helped birth them both, how he had raced through the shallows of the sea with them; how he had fed them fruit, and brushed their hair; how he had travelled with them further than he could ever go alone. How he was so different now, but hoped they were the same.

And when he finished, breathing hard, the horses came to him cautiously, pricking their ears toward him and inspecting him with their eyes. And they each sniffed long at his offered palms. And then, all at once, they were all over him, knocking into him and nickering in his ear, rubbing their muzzles all over his cloak and his chest and his heart.

'Alright, then,' he said, laughing helplessly, embracing them both, 'aren't you both wonderful? I have surely missed you.'

'You have quite the way with horses,' came the stranger's voice.

The horses went quiet, and shied behind him. 'It's alright,' he soothed them. He turned his head and took the stranger in. He looked very odd standing there in Gabriela's old shoes and cloak and Eliseo's old clothes, awkwardly carrying an overstuffed pack and a folded-up piece of parchment - and still, thought Gabriela to himself, he held himself more naturally than Gabriela did. 

Gabriela looked him over again, and then he turned away, focusing again on the horses. 

'Come over here, then,' he said softly. 'So they can get to know you.'

The stranger obeyed, approaching slowly and carefully. 'What do you call them?'

'I do not know their names,' admitted Gabriela. 'But when I sing this song--' and here he sung the short song he'd made for the brown horse, tipping his forehead against hers '--this one comes to me. And when I sing this song--' and here he sung the longer song he'd made for the dappled horse, who was busy investigating the smell of the stranger's free hand '--that one comes to me. Usually, that is. But I think she likes you.'

The stranger stroked the dappled horse's head carefully. 'They sound very beautiful,' he said wistfully. 'But I'm afraid I cannot sing. If I call you Mélodie,' he said to the horse, 'will you come to me?'

The dappled horse stomped one of her hooves, and moved away, back toward Gabriela and her sister. 'It's alright,' said Gabriela, gently. Then, to the stranger: 'You need not call her anything, sir. Just listen when she seems tired, or does not want to go somewhere.'

The stranger shifted the pack over his shoulder. 'Well - there is no need for you to call _me_ 'sir'. I am called Jacques.'

'Zjauch?' Gabriela hummed, scritching the dappled horse's neck. What a strange name, he thought to himself. 'Alright, then. I will call you Zjauch.'

Zjauch tilted his head, staring at him. 'And what shall I call the person who saved my life? Those people before, they called you Gabriela... is that your name?'

Gabriela's heart went still and sunken within his chest. And only the horses noticed the sky grow dark with cloud and wind.

'I have no name,' said the man. And he gestured for the folded up parchment from Zjauch, which he recognised as the woman Socorro's map. 'And you need not know me. I have done nothing for you that any other would not have also done.'

But the stranger knew fresh the court of war and malice; and he knew how very rarely life was preserved. 'Very well,' he said. 'My life may be worth little to you, but surely these clothes, this horse - are they not worth very much?' For a gift of something useful to one who has nothing is surely a great gift indeed.

' _I_ did not give any of them to you,' the man said coolly, 'and they are not yours to keep.'

Zjauch tilted his head. 'Would you take them from me, then, sir?'

'I will take nothing from you yet,' said the man. 'I know you are our enemy in this war. But I am not yet a soldier. So I will take you to the border between our countries and leave you there, and your business will be your own. And I will travel onward to the capital and join my country's army, for I am no coward; and if I see you again from then on, I will surely take your life.'

'Hm!' Zjauch looked the man over curiously; and he seemed almost amused. 'You will not find killing me so easy as all that.' For though the man had learned well how to subdue a man, Zjauch had learned well how to kill one.

'Is anything in this life easy?' said the man mildly. And he looked the map over once more before placing it in his cloak. 'But come now,' he said, mounting the brown mare, 'we will lose daylight soon, if we do not leave now.' 

Zjauch mounted the dappled mare with care and confidence, praising her when she let him do so. And he followed after the man and the brown mare as they galloped down the hill and out through the flattened land. And Zjauch thought he had found himself in a very strange place indeed, filled with many a nameless thing. 

And he thought of the mare he rode as _Longue_ and the mare the man rode as _Courte_ (as in the length of their songs). And he thought of his companion as Pluo, for whenever he sang one of his strange songs to himself, he sounded so very sad; and the sky always seemed as if it would storm.

Indeed, as they rode on, the man sung the woman Yaya's songs under his breath without realising; and he did not notice that their horses did not tire, nor that hunger did not seem to touch any of them. And the night covered them from those who would harm them; and though the sky did thunder from behind, the rain never reached them.

For magic in the man took root.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Pluo (see also: pluit) is Latin for _(it) rains_ or _I fall or drip like rain_ ; it is an ancestor of the modern day llover and pleuvoir ( _to rain_ ).
> 
> II. Nameless horses inspired by C.S. Lewis's _A Horse and His Boy_.


	4. Chapter 4

They rode north against the coast till the moon winked away and the sun crept up the sky. And they found themselves riding down into a field of gold-green grass as the sun spilled across the land. And they heard the sound of a great running river as they dismounted the wild horses they'd ridden; and they looked at each other in wonder.

'How can it be that we have ridden all night?' Pluo wondered, watching Courte and Longue lower their heads to graze. 'I am hardly even tired.'

'...Perhaps we were very determined,' Zjauch said, though I am sure he wondered at the very same thing himself. 'We should leave the horses to it - find a clear space to rest, and eat something, at least.' 

'I am not hungry,' said Pluo, walking past him towards the sound of the river. But he stumbled slightly as he said this, his legs weak from overriding. Zjauch moved to steady him.

'Easy there,' Zjauch murmured. And he held the man closer than he needed to, for a moment longer than he meant.

The two of them stared at each other. The wind stirred the grass around them. The buttonquail called to its mate. The river rushed on.

Pluo frowned at Zjauch in confusion and pulled himself away. 'I thank you for your concern,' he said slowly, 'but I will eat later.' And he took the map out again to look at, wandering through the tall grass until Zjauch could hardly see him.

Zjauch pulled his gaze away and laughed a little at himself. Too many days on the battlefield, and he went weak-kneed over the first pretty face he saw off of it! The man would not even give him his _name_ ; there was little reason to believe he would want to give him anything else. 

Besides, he thought to himself, what time could they have together? If they kept this unsaintly pace up, they would be at the border within a month's time.

Pluo, meanwhile, had reached the river, and was staring wide around while he wandered the smooth muddy banks, and looking closely at the woman Socorro's map. Beetles buzzed nearby; damselflies flitted and flew; the deep water rushing found a silent place in Pluo's mind.

This was no stream he stood at, Pluo knew, staring again at the map. Surely... surely this could not be Behanzin's river? That was almost two days' ride away from the village! It was impossible that they could've ridden so quickly here. He had heard of very powerful magics being used to increase distance or speed in travel, but he had no such power. And Zjauch's people misliked such things, so he heard.

'What worries you so, sweet one?' said a voice.

Pluo turned at the sound. And there she saw a beautiful woman where there had been none before, bathing in water that now seemed still and serene. The woman was dark like the earth and just as lovely, with eyes and gills of deepest gold; and her mossy green braids fell languid down her back.

'Good-day, sister,' Pluo said, shyly, taking in the woman's beauty. She slid away the map into her cloak, for it seemed rude, somehow, to look at it now. 'I did not mean to worry you. Tell me, please, to which god does this river flow?'

The woman smiled like a hook in her heart. 'This river flows to Behanzin, god of all fish,' she said. 'Are you very lost, sweet one? Come swim with me, and I will tell you all you must know of this place.'

Pluo laughed to herself. 'I would swim if I could,' she said wryly, 'but my legs are so tired it is all I can do to stand.'

'I will carry you, if I must,' said the woman, swimming closer. 'Are you not very lonely, after all? For your power is very great.'

Lonely? Was Pluo lonely? Was the word _lonely_ big enough to describe the pain of travelling so far away that her family could not see?

'I am not lonely,' said Pluo, softly. Yet clouds gathered above.

The woman looked up at the sky curiously, then returned her smile to Pluo. 'And you need never be again, with me,' so she said. 'Tell me, then, what are you called?'

The man paused, and stepped back, and remembered himself. 'I have no name,' he said, 'for none call me; and none know me; and none want me.'

The woman paused, and looked the man over anew. 'Well, I want you,' she said softly. 'And I would know you - so I will call you Yoongura. For you come to me like rain.'

Yoongura went carefully to her knees in the mud, the woman a beacon in the water before her. And she undid her cloak as easy as breathing. And her reason for some reason seemed very far from her.

'Let me come to you like rivers, instead,' said Yoongura, 'and I will wash you clean.' The woman ducked below the water, swimming up close to the banks where Yoongura waited. 

'Come to me now, then,' said the woman, 'my Yoongura.' And she reached out an arm to pull Yoongura into the river.

'Wait,' said Zjauch, stumbling out of the tall grass and onto the banks. 'Don't go with her, Pluo!'

Yoongura blinked at Zjauch lazily, then returned her full attention to the woman in water.

'Pluo?' said the woman, befuddled. 'Who is that?'

'I know not,' Yoongura said blithely. 'I have no name but that which you have given.' And she caressed the woman's face with her eyes.

'Is Pluo that human's name, then?' said the woman. 

'No,' said Yoongura, sighing to herself as she leaned back on her arm, 'that is Zjauch. I took his life from the sea...' she trailed off, clearly losing interest.

'Zjauwk?' said the woman, screwing up her face. 'What a very odd name!'

'My name is not Zjauwk!' said Zjauwk, scowling. 'My name is Jacques!'

The woman and Yoongura exchanged a look. 'But then who is Pluo?' said the woman.

'It's, well, it's my name for you,' said Jacques, flustered, gesturing at Yoongura. 'I know you don't have a name for whatever besainted reason, but I can't exactly go around saying, _Hey, you_ , all the time, now, can I?'

'Oh, certainly not,' the woman agreed. 'It would be very rude. And you cannot be both ugly _and_ rude.' Jacques gaped soundlessly for a moment only - but a moment was all it took. In that moment the woman reached up and grabbed Yoongura by the collar, and pulled her down into the river.

Soon even the ripples the two of them had made had disappeared. And though Jacques dove into the rushing waters, he found no sign of either of them, and indeed, nearly only found his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. The borders of reality do not fit in this story. So Behanzin's river is not set in what is now known as Benin (née Dahomey), an indirect neighbour of EG, since none of this story is set anywhere at all. Never...the-less, it seems that Behanzin is a real god of the Fon people, who live mostly in Benin, but also in Nigeria and Togo. Not sure of Behanzin's popularity now, but it seems his name was often invoked by fishermen to ensure a bountiful catch. (Béhanzin is also the name of a valiant Dahomey king who fought against the French, and [was later exiled to Martinique](https://tanlistwa.com/2019/12/12/behanzin-king-of-dahomey-12-years-of-forced-exile-in-martinique-1-2-from-abomey-to-fort-tartenson/)).
> 
> II. Yoongura is a Bariba name historically given to daughters 'born while it was raining'. The Bariba (Baatonu) people are concentrated in Benin. I sourced this name (and one other you will see later) from some depressing [onomastic research](http://onomastics.ru/sites/default/files/doi/10.15826/vopr_onom.2018.15.1.006.pdf)  
> on the effects colonisation and European/Arab missionary efforts have had on Baatonu naming practices.


	5. Chapter 5

For the woman swum deep with Yoongura by her side - deeper than the bottom of the river, so deep for so far that the only way forward after some time was up. And Yoongura could not hold her breath long enough to follow. Indeed, when the woman finally emerged once more from the water, Yoongura was silent and still. And the woman dragged her up from the river and pulled the water from her lungs and her clothing with a wave of her hand. And with the water she made herself a dress of darkened stars. For she was not a woman at all, but a godling instead.

And Yoongura came alive slowly and sleepily; and she embraced the godling when she saw her, clinging to her hard. 

'No more of that, human,' said the godling, snapping her fingers so the daze left Yoongura's eyes. 'I have stolen you, do you understand? I have stolen you and brought you to the other side of the river.'

Yoongura looked around and saw that they lay upon the banks of what looked like the very same river. The grass looked like emerald, though, and the frogs gleamed like blue flame, and the sky swirled with night. And the moon shone down like gold above them.

Yoongura yawned - even the very air tasted different - and did not seem greatly bothered. Perhaps she thought she was adream. 'I see. Well, I am very tired now, and cannot stand,' she said. 'Carry me to your bed, please, and we will speak more of this tomorrow.'

'I! Carry you?' said the godling, indignant. 'Do you not know to whom you speak?'

'Of course I do not know,' said Yoongura, laying her head on the godling's shoulder, 'you never told me. Now carry your Yoongura, as you promised.' 

'Well!' said the godling. 'I have never-- been spoken to-- so impudently!-- and by a human!' But she gathered Yoongura up into her arms as she grumbled, and she carried her all the way down the very long river and up a very steep hill, where a great house made of salt-glass and mudrock awaited them. And no light glowed within, for none lived there now.

And the godling went silent when she saw the house, and her tread grew heavy. And Yoongura stirred in her arms when they went up into the grim house, up the very long staircase, up into the one room with an open door.

And the godling dropped Yoongura unceremoniously down into the bed, and made as if to leave her there. But Yoongura stopped her with a hand on her arm, ignorant of her own strength and speed. And though the godling twisted like a spider in the wind, she could not get free.

'I am sorry,' said Yoongura, shocked, releasing her. 'I did not mean to hurt you.'

The godling looked away, and sat slowly down on the bed. 'You did not hurt me,' she said stiffly.

'I just-- just wanted to know where you were going,' said Yoongura, apologetically, fighting back a yawn as she lay back in the bed.

The godling looked closely at her sleepy form for some time. 'I must gather food, and replenish my strength,' she said, at length. And yet she seemed to be waiting for something.

'Hm. Can you not do that later?' said Yoongura. And she reached out to grasp her wrist. The godling scowled, but did not protest when Yoongura pulled her back into the bed, into her arms. 'Come, let us rest now. You said you would not leave me lonely, didn't you?'

'--You said you were not lonely,' said the godling; and she fought not to tremble.

'It is hard to be lonely,' said Yoongura, resting her tired head against the godling's, 'with you here in my arms.' And she fell asleep embracing the godling, there in her empty room; there in that empty house.

* * *

In time, the golden moon sunk into the sky, and some thing somewhat like the sun rose in its place. And the godling shook herself awake impatiently, and wrestled herself out of Yoongura's arms, her dress now of dark diamond silk.

'Now look here, human,' she said sharply. Yoongura came awake slowly; and she made a soft noise in her throat when she looked around and did not recognise anything about her. For this was the first time in her memory that she had awoken away from home.

'--You need not be frightened,' said the godling firmly. 'Remember you are mine, Yoongura, and I will never harm you.'

Yoongura smiled humourlessly, coming all the way awake. And she pushed her jagged hair out of her eyes as she sat up. 

'Never,' she said, 'is a very long time.' 

'It is not so long to me,' the godling said carelessly. 'Have I not said so already? I will never harm you. Do not make me repeat myself again, human.'

'...It is a promise, then,' said Yoongura. 'I will be yours forever, and you will never harm me. If I try to leave you or betray you, you may take my life. But if you harm me, you must set me free. Now,' here she leaned forward, staring deep into the godling's eyes, 'what is your name?'

'I--' Flustered, the godling tossed her head. 'I am called Beru, for I am the sixth of my sisters.' Her eyes came to rest on the window then, at the sun spilling pink in the sky. And her eyes went still and her shoulders taut. 

'Rather... I _was_ the sixth of my sisters. But you humans poisoned the river using foul magic, and killed them all. And I alone survived, for I had disobeyed my eldest sister and went travelling to a tributary. And when I returned after many years away I found my sisters, and all their children, and all their children's children, rotting by the river. So you see,' she said, standing to her feet and looking down on Yoongura, 'it is not you who need fear treachery from me.'

Man is indeed treacherous, Yoongura thought to herself. And she held her heart in her eyes as she looked back at Beru. For she could not fathom such pain as the godling must feel.

'Well,' said Beru, clearing her throat and looking away. 'It is done with now. I will travel to the tributaries and find a wife to rebuild my family... though it is shameful indeed to treat for myself. Nevertheless you, Yoongura, will guard our river and our home with your great power, so that it is not taken over by strangers.'

Great power? Yoongura wondered at this. Before, on the other side of the river, Beru had said she must have some great power - but what power did she mean? 

Something else confounded her, too.

'I am to be your,' Yoongura struggled, 'your guard, then? Not your... your wife?'

Beru scoffed. 'A human wife! Do not be disgusting,' she said. 'Is it not so that you humans are mostly cut in half? You cannot both sire and bear children, can you?'

The man sat in shame and shock on the bed. 'I cannot,' he said. And the sky outside filled with great, heavy clouds.

Beru peered at him. 'I did not mean to offend you, Yoongura,' she said slowly. 'Do not be offended, please. Humans killed all my family, how can I have a human child? Say you understand, Yoongura. You are mine now, always, and you have to understand me.'

Yoongura bowed her head. 'I understand,' she said. But she understood only again that she was not wanted as she was.

And it rained heavily all day that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacques will be sitting the next few chapters out, but he shall return. Anyway, as per the last chapter note, and as implied in the text, Beru is a Bariba name historically given to the sixth-born daughter.


End file.
